


Touch

by Baneberry



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, fluff... kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 00:49:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5986702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Baneberry/pseuds/Baneberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You start to realize how much you miss it when it's gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Written entirely to this [very nsfw picture by cresnoir](http://cresnoir.tumblr.com/post/139126312159/quarks-my-reaction-over-49-skids-you-slagging). God bless. 
> 
> Wow, #49 was a doozy.

In between sitting around, stressing out, pacing the cell, rocking in the fetal position, praying for hope, and nibbling on near-expired energon, there wasn’t much to do at Grindcore. Not if you weren’t scheduled for work.

Quark, for example, was left to rot in his alt mode (or so his captors thought), and Skids only worked with Tarn a couple hours per day.

With not much else to do but think of the inevitable, painful end of their lives in the near future, Skids came up with a great plan to pass the time. Something as old as time that never lost its style or fun.

Quark had been hesitant at first, but the boredom had worn him down, and he got tired of trying not to imagine his horrible demise at the hands of his jailers. Besides, Skids had something of an infectious energy about him–-Quark didn’t understand it, not at first, but stopped questioning it quickly enough.

Besides, interfacing tended to take a lot of energy, and usually helped Quark recharge much easier at night. So, why not? He had nothing to lose, and it wasn’t like Skids was hideous or dull. Quark liked him, though he didn’t consider him a friend-–a good acquaintance, but not quite friend. It was hard to trust anyone here–you looked out for yourself. And showing affection and kindness to another was both a weakness and could easily be used against you.

After a quick conversation, they came to an agreement. Two minutes later, Quark was straddling Skids’s head, sitting on his face as the blue Autobot licked and nipped at the folds of his channel quite nicely. They intended to start slow, and for the first few minutes, they were-–but whether it was the claustrophobia, or the sudden need for urgent intimacy, that quickly changed.

Quark panted, hands planted on the ground, leaning forward. Skids supported him with one hand on the back, the other curled around his inner thigh, holding his leg open a little wider. Quark saw stars until his vision nearly short-circuited. He wasn’t sure why this felt so different from the other times in the past. This wasn’t his first time, after all, but…

It’d been so long since Quark last touched anyone. Even a hand on the shoulder or a pat on the back. He… missed it. He didn’t realize it until now, but it wasn’t just the fact Skids was currently suckling on his anterior node. It was his hands holding him, too, it was the feel of his face clamped around his legs.

Quark winced, pushing his glasses up. He squeezed his eyes shut and ground his teeth. He felt heat blossom behind his optics; the need to cry suddenly overwhelmed him. His frame rattled and shook and his fingers dug into his face and into the cold ground, and Quark choked and wriggled at a certain brush of Skids’s tongue down his slit.

Then, Skids abruptly stopped. He squirmed his head about until he could be heard more easily. “You okay, Quark?” he asked, his face moist with lubricant.

Quark glanced down at him, and Skids winced at that familiar, painful bright glow in his optics. He knew that look. But then Quark shook his head and invented deeply; he braced both hands back against the ground. “D-Don’t stop,” he croaked hoarsely, “k-keep go-going.”

Skids understood. He slid Quark back down, kissed his anterior node, then plunged his tongue back in. Quark gasped, sitting up straight. He threw his head back, venting, coolant dribbling from the corner of his mouth. He rocked his hips, grinding down into Skids’s mouth and faceplates.

Quark’s unit pressurized, but he ignored it. He knew he was making a mess, but didn’t care. His hips snapped, and Skids closed his fingers tighter around his hip. Skids slid his head back to massage his tongue against ceiling node, pressing down.

“S-Skids!” Quark keened. He sat back, grabbing the top of Skids’s head, guiding him closer, the tongue pressing down harder. He reached back his free hand, scrambled for purchase at the ground. “Mm-more! Pl-please!” Quark started bouncing, desperate now, fingers peeling back paint along Skids’s head. “Nn–more! _More, please_!”

Quark’s optics widened; he was suddenly pushed back, and nearly fell off Skids. Skids caught and pinned him to the ground. Quark looked up, optics still big and round, as the blue Autobot crawled over him, weight pressing down on Quark. His EM field was hot, tangling with Quark’s.

Quark whimpered, optics fluttering.

Skids got into position, brushing the head of his unit against Quark’s open, wet channel. With no protests, he pushed inside, both mechs going stiff before settling with giant exvents. Skids started thrusting, hitting deep node clusters; Quark cried, hiccuped once. He threw a shaky arm around Skids’s back, and Skids all too happily hugged him back. He half-lifted Quark from the ground, cradling the smaller bot to his chest, resting his chin on his shoulder.

Skids’s hand slithered back, groped at empty air before finding Quark’s hand. He took it, fingers clumsily sliding between fingers, and squeezed. Quark flinched, but quickly held his hand, until both their fingers locked and knuckle joints strained.

Quark buried his face against Skids, venting, tears falling down his cheeks to join the drool along his chin. He could taste the bitter flavor of optic coolant on his tongue. His legs clamped down on Skids’s hips as he rode into the unit, hips grinding and leaving behind paint transfers.

They held hands until they both finished their overloads, each a few minutes apart from one another. As they unraveled, they let go, but once comfortable and laying against the wall, curled up against one another, their fingers slid back together and squeezed, much softer now.

They stayed like this through recharge. Dangerous, risky, but somehow… it was worth it.


End file.
